The Nellie Blog

Sunday, June 11, 2017

Annapolis, Maryland - A few months shy of four years ago, I summoned the
pretention to post a blawg (“Priceless Advice”) about Nellie Junior and his
impending departure for university. This was 2013, a perfect time, such as with
any period during the past eight years or so, to examine a lot of depressing economic
facts, of which the piece was chock full. C’mon man, this was three years after
Recovery Summer, donchaknow! Junior, like Senior, is a pretty loose guy and
so we yukked it up about what the future would hold for him and then I said,
“Hey chief, check back with the old man in four years.Take it easy and remember, it’s all about the
green.” And that was that.

In the intervening years, the middle son left for a
nearby maritime institution and the youngest is soon headed off to attend a
similar organization, beginning with a summer patrolling jungles and firing
weapons. I call it the real world “Call of Duty,” the faux-world COD being one at
which a sizable percentage of millennials are really skilled because they play
it in their parents’ basement. All day. And oh yeah, that percentage grew 8
percent during the last four years. No green there.

As a man who knows his limitations, I had only two
pieces of advice for Junior when he left for Faber College: 1. “There
are more important things than grades” (and yes, I almost added “like winning the
Caddie Tournament.”). 2. “Don’t even think about coming home with a degree in
Psychology unless you want to be serving me eggs and joe in the local diner
when you’re 30 – and getting expert at COD.”

Yeah, subtle Dad.On 1: I didn’t want him to have a psychotic focus on his GPA and
incessant worry about academics. Rather, I wanted him to make solid friendships,
enjoy playing NCAA lacrosse, and develop a plan for a lucrative career.On 2. I wanted him to eschew any major
involved with “helping people” and instead, drive hard at what would help him.

In addition, I advised him to distance himself from
a certain, clannish group on campus, for whom the greatest skepticism should be
shown.

“You will be,” I intoned, “in the presence of many
people who received very good grades, but have never lived a moment in the every-day,
rough-and-tumble of life and hence, have little idea how the real world
actually operates. They are called," and here I grimaced and then said with mild dismay, "'Professors.’”

Now, at the end of four years, it’s quite clear
Junior followed through on most of the old man’s priceless advice. He has a
legion of friends in the BA category, played through four good lax seasons on the
fields of glory, and developed a skill held by darn few Caucasian kids worldwide.There remained one last challenge: Graduation
and the Commencement-Day addresses.

I attended the event and first up were the student speakers –
the screeching echoes still assault the ears. ‘….racism…sexism…xenophobism…glaciers…” and
my fave gem from a kid, “…the one percent, like, control, like, everything!”It’s sophomoric stuff that you hear from a
surprising number of adults, and yet these kids are just entering adulthood and
isn’t it so, like, cool that in order to come up with these, like, wise musings, they’ve
been forced to live in a country club-like setting for four years?!There’s no doubt where these students are
headed: Performance art studios, arctic elk non-profits, and poetry slams.

But
alas, I hear all three are crowded “spaces.”

Then there was the outside Commencement speaker – a
real dreamboat. Hey, can I even say that?! She’s
an “activist/writer/artist – a creativist.” Better yet, she also moonlights as
a “public intellectual” from a “courageous” Third World nation which, as no
less than The New Yorker Magazine
informs, hosts the largest city in the world with no central sewer or water
system.

I learned a lot from this “public intellectual” because
she told me herself she was going to engage me in a “dialogue.”She should know - it is after all, a thinking "persyn's" world, certainly not a world where drones - such as the audience of parents
- have to show up, hustle, and sweat out real jobs, day after month after years
for decades. We hapless breadwinners were simply enthralled with the exhortations
about inequality and global climate cooling change warming and multiculturalism and
tolerance and the need for cross-hybrid gender rapprochement and transcultural
synergies and before I leave, you can bet I’m gonna check my privilege. And goodness,
I know darn well that it takes a village – just give me one with plumbing.

What’s so rich is that this is the same jive I heard
three decades ago when I graduated from Faber and had an obscure United
Nations’ bureaucrat as a Commencement speaker, yelling at us about American capitalism
and imperialism. "That fellow seemed rather sold on himself,” observed my calm,
mild-mannered father, who was in attendance.Yep, Dad - a self-made man who at age 18 took part in the invasion of Okinawa
and later spent five months patrolling the streets of Tokyo as part of the
occupation force, even as the UN was being formed in San Francisco.Hey, who knew?! My laid-back old man - both a
capitalist and an imperialist!

I wish Faber had called in Lloyd Blankfein of
Goldman Sachs or Jamie Dimon of JPMorgan Chase, who once said in exquisite capitalist
fashion, “In dealing with poverty here and around the world, welfare and
foreign aid are a band aid. Free enterprise is the cure.”

Wait a minute, that wasn’t Dimon. It was Bono. In the
same month and year I
penned my first pre-Faber blawg to Junior.

But Faber doesn’t get Bono, and doesn’t even get
Dimon or Blankfein. But we did get holistic appeals to our guilt-ridden
Ids.Ich bin ein bedauerlich.

Nellie Junior is immune to these appalling
lectures.He majored in Chinese, is
fluent in Mandarin, and spent last summer working on IPOs in Hong Kong.He rolls on to finance, his middle brother
boards a guided missile cruiser, and his youngest brother heads off to the
delightfully named “Beast Summer.” Wow, just think of it: From Grandfather to Father
to Sons – Nelligan men in this new generation boast one capitalist and two
future imperialists! No creativists! Darn! But then again, this is America,
where we have water systems, and where all non-creativists are quietly absorbed
in a “work ethic.”

Today, as yesterdays four years ago, I only have two pieces of
advice for Junior as he heads off to Taipei.“First, gao fu schuai, there are more important things than dialogues.
And second, don’t even think about coming home unless you have a cool ten
million in green to show the old man.”

Saturday, July 30, 2016

40 years one night

“The Wild Bunch is gonna ride tonight,” said my old basketball pal, Jeff Wise. I nodded in agreement as we sat shoulder-to-shoulder on chairs in the Woodland Hills (CA) Hilton ballroom. Because only he and I knew what that meant.

Thomas Wolfe once famously wrote that you can’t go home again. Of course, for him, home was some poverty-stricken Tobacco Road affair in Asheville, where everyone was either blasted by noon or jobless, or both.

Not so for me, Tommy-boy. Because I was home again: Wise and I were surveying the El Camino Real High School Class of 1976’s 40th Reunion.

The high school reunion is American folklore, truly the go-home-again scene writ large. Big minds like Wolfe can wrestle with the agonized gestalt of youth; small minds like Nellie can revel in seeing the pals with whom formative, important years were spent.

I had two basic groups of friends in high school – determined jocks and student council brainiacs. I was mediocre at the former and not smart enough for the latter. Hence, I learned a lot from both, for which my gratitude will never end.

For my athlete pals, I start with the tallest: At 6' 8", Big Al Kennedy, former San Francisco 49er, winner of two Super Bowl rings, now running a large Bay Area security company. Matt Staker, Best Man for the groom in "My Fair Brady" (Chris Knight a.k.a. Peter Brady was a classmate) and a longtime computer company executive. Kurt Vetter, a fast-mover with Coca-Cola and now President of an international food company whose products I guarantee you have in your kitchen. Jim Benkert, one of the winningest high school football coaches in California history, with four state title teams. Roger Lang, former UCLA baseball scholarship man and AT&T executive. And, my Wild Bunch comrade Wise, a well-known Northern California teacher, coach and athletic director.

In minutes, we all dispense with the trivialities like careers and kids and move onto the important stuff. “Vetter was always bummed that season because we couldn’t get past Canoga High”....“Matt started Varsity in 11th grade after getting no PT on BEEs”....“In the Taft game, Benkert body-slammed Fisher (Jeff Fisher, now head coach of the L.A. Rams)....“Roger had that future NBA guy one-on-one with rest of us in the box defense on the corners”..."Check out Al's rings..."

After every season had been rehashed, I head over to the student government table. Emphatically, I tell the wife of Mark Pearl, a onetime neighbor: “Your husband, Futterman, Zipperstein and Shapiro were the smartest guys in the class.” I subsequently learn that ole Zip is a General Counsel for a Fortune 20 company, and Futterman and Shapiro are big-time attorneys in the Bay Area. Then she tells me her and Mark’s son was valedictorian of his high school class. “See, told you I was right!” I say smugly.

On to the “girls,” now women. I tell them all that I had a crush on all of them in 10th grade but was too much of a geek to pursue any of it further. “You weren’t a geek,” they assure me with no enthusiasm and then ask what I’ve been doing in my career. Ascertaining the political winds in the room, I tell them the truth. “I’ve worked for the Evil Party for thirty years” and then I pause dramatically. “But I’m better now.” They nod approvingly and I slide on. Why upset anyone unnecessarily?

The disc jockey – they are now called “DJs” for your information - is "spinning" groups like Chicago, Neil Diamond, Van Halen, and Elton John.I shudder as I see people dancing.

One kind soul asks me if I have any kids. “Yes,” I say brightly, “Three sons and two have cleared parole.” Between the throwback Van Halen and the crowd noise, maybe she doesn’t hear me. “That’s nice,” she responds and drifts away.

I always have had a good mind for numbers (though don’t ask Staker and Geoff Horn how we gamed Mr. Reedy’s 11th grade Geometry class;no wonder I’ll never be Senate confirmable). So I tell the nine athletes at my table what their jersey numbers were in 11th grade. This turns out to be my sole original contribution to the evening.

I understand quite well high school is a super-charged environment in a long life that can be awfully benign, and perhaps I’m unusual that my experience was truly good - except then I glance at my athlete and student council pals. Like them, I had a lot of friends, I was toonervous to get in trouble, I was around guys and girls who were motivated and resilient, and not much of this good fortune ever wore off. I look at these individuals now – many virtually unchanged in appearance and every one of them solid contributors to the great machinery of American society.

Near the end of the evening, I’m with Wise and he confides, “The Wild Bench went out in style, that’s for sure.” He’s right.

It was February 8, 1976, El Camino Real High versus Jefferson High in the Los Angeles City Playoffs.Wise and I were, in fact, the sole members of the Wild Bunch. It was our self-proclaimed nickname, gleefully familiar to every kid in the school. Because when the Wild Bunch got in a game, everyone knew that game was out of control.

El Camino was behind by 20 points with 50 seconds left when suddenly, Wise and I were thrust onto the floor by our mournful coach. Dribbling, Wise bounced the ball off his knee, it caroomed to me, and he got an assist when I lofteda crazy, off-balance jump shot (two of my four points for the entire season). The El Camino crowd erupted in good-natured laughs and cheers, as though we were up by 20. Take that, Wolfe-man.

Wise kind of muses, “Nellie, I remember that game and man, it just doesn’t seem that long ago.” Looking back 40 years over a room full of once-inseparable friends, I too recalled the game and the lockers slamming in the gym and the school bells and the books thumping shut and the joke sessions at lunch and the yells across the football field and all the years of success and shortcomings and general prevailing.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Washington, D.C. -- A lot of Dads have sons who are good – maybe very good – at a particular sport.
Some are great. Moreover, many of these athletes don’t want their athletic careers
to end after the last whistle in high school.

I had two sons like that.One now plays NCAA Division III lacrosse. The
other was recruited in two sports (football and lacrosse) by a dozen D-III schools.
He instead attended a Division I school where he tried out as a long-snapper
for the football team and got cut. Yeah, that’s how it goes sometimes and it was tough as hell on both of us. But he's still damn happy at the U.S. Naval Academy.

Hence, during the past
four years – and now picking up again with my 11th grade son – I
have been closely involved with the college athletics recruiting process. It
may appear to be daunting and complex, but here’s the surprise:it’s not. Rather, assuming your kid is determined and resilient,
and you are as well, the process involves old-fashioned research, a lot of proactive
legwork and follow-through, and decision-making.

How did I learn
this? Typical plodding Nellie: Four years ago, I sought the
advice of Dads whose kids had been through the recruiting process. I called and
met with a range of current and former college athletes and guys who knew
college sports; I read a ton of material on recruiting and I put together a
basic plan.It wasn’t perfect, but it
got my sons the attention they sought. And here it is:

1.Skill
Expectation: This is the honesty part: Simply put, how
good is your kid at his sport?The NCAA is
comprised of three Divisions - I, II, and III – corresponding to the level of
competition. As a Dad, you need to frankly discuss with your son where his
skills fit within this hierarchy. And it shouldn’t be hard: A good athlete gets
that way by being aware of his capabilities and those of his peers. Be alert,
however: Yes, your son may be truly gifted, Division 1 material, but rarely
leave the bench in four years.At a D-II
or D-III school, he may start every game. Once you and your son have
established where he fits in these unforgiving Division categories, time to
move on.

2.Geographic
Location: Where does your son want to be? This is easy. Ask
him. Does he want a big university or small college?Urban or suburban? A school in the South, the
West, New England, the Middle West? Warm climate or one with seasons?Close to home, kinda close, or wwayyy away
from home? “I don’t know” is not an
answer.Discuss at length with him what
he wants – drive him to schools close to you. Walk around and introduce yourself
to students and adults you see.You
can’t afford to be shy – hey, this is your son’s future you’re dealing with
here.There are approximately 2,170 colleges
and universities in the United States, of which there are athletic programs at 442
Division III, 302 D-II, and 335 D-1 schools. There are more than enough
choices. Choose and decide, don’t equivocate.

3.Academic
Interest:What does your
son want to study?Trust me when I say
this is secondary. Because unless you have a single-minded kid who wanted to be
a doctor or a businessman or a pilot since age 7, this is probably unanswerable.The fact is, most kids don’t know what they
want to do until they actually get on a campus with other kids, take classes,
and find out what they like and at what they excel. If he has a general idea, then factor that
into the equation.

These are the first,
basic steps. Now comes the mechanics:

4.Using the criteria above, sit down with
your son in total seclusion – I mean no phones allowed or distractions
whatsoever – in front of a computer screen and search for 15 to 20 schools that
match the criteria above (Here’s a tip: Start with your son’s sport, and punch
in NCAA Division III).Full disclosure: This
may not sound original, but it is the only way to get a sense of an academic institution
outside of driving yourself nuts driving around the nation. Start with colleges
you know, those that are close, and those that you’ve heard of.Look over every webpage of these college
sites. Get a sense of the place, take written notes. Repeat: Total isolation – no devices and interruptions.As well, seek out individuals whom you
respect and admire and ask them about their college experiences – they’ll have invaluable
advice.

5.Review the team pages for the relevant sport at each of the schools in which your son is interested. Examine the
rosters: Where do the kids come from? Competitive high schools? Geographic distribution of the players?What are the sizes of the kids?What are the coaches’ backgrounds? How long
have they been there? What’s the team record during the past five years? What
kind of athletic facilities? What’s the conference like? What kinds of schools
does it contain?

6.Now apply Nellie’s "Broken Leg Theory.”
If your son breaks his leg in spring practice or slipping in the dining hall
and is finished with sports, does he still want to be at that school?

7.Next: Email the coaches. Send along a
highlights film and or statisticcs for sports that don’t lend themselves to
film.Send a one-page “Fact Sheet” on
which are the following: GPA, test scores, classes taken last semester, classes
for the current semester, your son’s size, 40-dash time where relevant, brief
description of positions played, other sports played, records if team is a winner,
any athletic honors and any extracurricular activities.

8.Bonus round:If your club team or high school team goes to
tourneys, list those on the Fact Sheet. The same with sports camps you attended.If you are at tourneys or camps and you
happen to see a college coach, have your kid - not you! - introduce himself.

9.If your aim is true based on your son’s
skills, you’ll get responses back from coaches.If not, don’t worry – do a Round II of searching.

The key, as I said in
the beginning, is to be proactive, constantly reaching out and then following
through. If your kid is a superstar,
coaches will call him. But there aren’t that many superstars.I know - my sons weren’t.The Dads and kids who succeed in this process
are the ones who grind it out, day after day, never missing an opportunity at
promotion.Moreover, it’s wise to print
and catalog the emails and responses and all other notes and documents,
placing all as a measure of progress in a three-ring binder. If you're
diligent, it will be two binders.

When to start?If you and your kid are serious, start the
summer after his sophomore year. Don’t worry about scholarships – they are few
and far between for those at the D-1 level, funds are only partial at the D-II
level, and they are nonexistent for sports at the D-III level.

If you have any
questions, just email me (JeffNelligan@yahoo.com
). I’ve been through this twice. Yep, I made some errors - some were embarrassing to me personally and were a result of being a rookie and being too aggressive. But hey, when you are in contact with a cumulative 53 schools, you're going to make mistakes. I'd rather be shot down than miss an opportunity.

The success the boys had was based on their athletic abilities and academic consistency, and most importantly, because of their follow through and desire to play beyond
high school.

Sports as a profession is
not going to lead anywhere for 99.9 percent of high school athletes. But athletics of any kind places your son in a
situation of camaraderie and competition, from which he learns resilience,
drive, and ambition.Those are the qualities
can’t be taught in a college classroom, but will be the most important
qualities your son can ever possess.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Annapolis, Maryland -- In the workaday world, whenever a gracious parent says to me, “You must be so proud of your boys,” I reply sincerely, “Yes, I am. They get their intellect and athleticism from their Mom. They get their low cunning from me.”

With that humble arrogance, let’s turn to the second installment of the foundation of the agent-in-waiting book, My Three Sons: How A Bad Dad Raised Good Kids. What’s a good kid? I’ve considered that phrase for a decade and a half – yep, ever since I became a Dad. All-encompassing, but an amorphous term, behind which is a catalogue of behaviors and attitudes: loyalty, thoughtfulness, dependability, discipline, determination, drive, enthusiasm, and toughness. Yeah, nice list - but Dads want precision, not a thesaurus.

My Three Sons is my straightforward take on the four realms of the good kid: his Personal Conduct; his Worldview; his Resilience and Adaptation; and, his Aspiration. Grounded in these four areas, the good kid is reflexive in making the correct decision in every situation he encounters at home and school, with his peer group and in his community.

Here are some definitions – see if they make sense to you.

Personal conduct: A kid responds with confidence and poise in every aspect of social interactions. He carries himself with ease because he has developed self-control and patience.

Worldview: A kid knows and grasps his environment. He appreciates the intrinsic good that everyday life offers and understands the bad. Equally important, he develops the maturity to limit the prevalence of electronic media - the narrow, glowing rectangle - in his daily life.

Resilience: A kid moves out with drive and clarity when circumstances large and small go south. He absorbs challenges and failures head on, handles pressure, adapts, and discovers a route to recovery.

Aspiration: A kid habitually sets goals and holds himself accountable. He is realistic in evaluating personal benchmarks and resists obstacles with determination and endurance.

Working from this baseline, I then contemplated how to inculcate these ideals in my three sons. And my reflections yielded this:
I would seize upon examples of sheer right and wrong found in everyday life, create a simple parable, and then identify each with an unforgettable exhortation.

These maxims - Dad’s “sayings” as my three sons labeled them - became a pounding soundtrack in the boys’ lives. Virtually every important aspect of their adolescence was viewed through the lens of one of my appeals. Over time, constant reprise and explanation of these adages helped develop instinctive, habitual responses to the situations in which my sons found themselves. Indeed, nearly a decade later, all four of us still repeat these aphorisms. Some are nutty and comical; others are harsh.

I found that given simple, constant, and memorable guidance on temperament and behavior, a young boy will thrive, becoming comfortable with himself and his surroundings; he settles into a pattern of conduct, which leads to a pattern of accomplishment. Repetition builds character.